Hard Stars

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
we are infinitly connected?

Submitted: November 20, 2010

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Submitted: November 20, 2010

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A A A


Hard stars
 
The lady does not soar.
Someone said that really we’re un-birded.
The girl is beside my rational red de-sowing
folding clothes, foetal response.
I am beside myself, with the thin air under.
Besides she lugs her last words, the ‘but nothing will remove this feeling’
And respect is a tie I won’t chew.
She tolled ‘you have to connect everything’
but he accrues, he accrues
a fragmentary notion in me. The ensuing
‘unravel!’ to the unreal
real hierarchy.
Now I shift the light into easy pieces.
Now I imbue a little of something
in a little of everything. I am told in her way
‘trust. So please don’t be so dependant’
‘I still think its awe’ with streetlight aviaries
in my palm
‘Any old avoidance’ she scorns.
No I do not soar.
Our friend is a calm confidence
and the dancer makes sure moves, tight self-faith
for forwardness.
The city woman. Long, wordless is all unsaid
as the moves bow ‘I will I will’. And then he whom I lug
lugged ‘you, you to defer admiration’ I concede with
 only my shoulder
on hers as I hear something perfect.
‘It is always the pushing or pulling’
so we are the flung hard stars together.
I collect again, arrange the bedclothes neatly,
understand the symmetry, cityscape
or plié
‘I told you I won’t lead’.

Know she hauls her brother still,
instilled by my ‘it’s fascinating?’
‘It is. And more to be so fascinated’
We are hard stars.
She makes dark eyes, with garden under
and reminds me how we nearly killed one.
It is our weight. Our different weights. ‘I think we were too dark, you know?’
We shift, we are similar. Entirely the opposite
‘But we all lug a sense of our own’

I say calmly ‘we’re infinitely connected’
he would deny
deny like that lust
to attain the ideal ‘they are not like me’
Then a calmness claim cool apathy
and the wordless independence
jar with her independence
graceful I muse
how I’d love assuredness
and quite close to me she finds a short way
to restore me from my helplessness
‘born in me, or from him?’ I demand
faintly
while we put it away for tonight
and we tell her why she veers from closeness
and they tell me why I cleave to closeness.


© Copyright 2018 Alex Jose. All rights reserved.

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